


blue on blue

by tiend



Category: Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Delta Squad - Freeform, F/M, GAR - Freeform, Republic Commando, figurative milwank, he brought the boom, literal milwank, repcomm, ships in the night, terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23765956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiend/pseuds/tiend
Summary: Mehitabel is tired and alone and stuck on this shithole of a waystation.. Scorch has a horrible shirt, access to a karaoke machine, and poor impulse control. Mistakes are made, but it all comes right in the end.
Relationships: RC-1262 | Delta-62 | Scorch/Original Female Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	blue on blue

Five days stuck in this forceforsaken place, all by herself. The waystation had obviously been a shithole before the Republic Navy had annexed it, and now it was worse, complete with overworked and underspec’d air scrubbers. As a result, the entire asteroid smelt like asscrack and feet. Mehitabel’s convoy had been beset by equipment failures, and her projected arrival time had slipped, and slipped again. She’d been in hyperspace staring at the implacable tick of the chrono when the trooper transport she was supposed to be on was undocked on schedule. It’d left before she even got here.

Mehitabel scuffed her boots on the worn floor panels as she lugged her duffel to the transient quarters. She’d been awake for the last sixteen hours on the inbound leg. Her skin felt like it was covered in a thin film of grease and she would’ve murdered someone for a water shower.

It didn’t quite come to that. After the sonics, she got ninety seconds of lukewarm trickle to rinse, and made the most of it. Cleaned her teeth and changed her clothes. It was 0900, all she wanted to do was sleep, not start fucking with her body clock to match local. Better find some caf, and soon. Chow should still be open.

Chow was not open. There was no food, but there were urns of usual burnt sump-oil GAR caf. Mehitabel nodded to the service droids and worked her way through three cups of it, scanning through her unread comm messages. Most of them were milgrade bullshit. Even those made her miss her people like a limb. She absent-mindedly rolled her shoulder.

Tucked almost at the bottom was a personal comm from one of her fellow corporals. Hepzibah always had the gouge. Somewhere on this sithfucking rock was a bar. Inevitably it’d be a shithole, but a shithole with alcohol was a step up on a shithole without.

She had quite a stack of GAR chits by now. They’d accumulated while she’d been stuck at the medical facility. Whatever turps this place served, she hoped, would melt the lingering taste of bacta off at the back of her throat.

The bar was open. To transient personnel. Locals had to wait.

There was a scatter of other humanoids, most of them looking as rough as she felt. She claimed a booth for herself and tapped her chits on the table, waiting impatiently for the serving droid to come over.

Some dickhead in an obnoxious shirt fired up the karaoke machine. Only the promise of booze kept her in her seat.

Loud Shirt had three identical mates waiting for him back in his booth. Clones. Mostly they kept themselves to themselves. Solid in a firefight, but wouldn’t tie one on with you afterwards. These were the first she’d seen in civvies, and she was surprised to see how much of a personality it gave them compared to the relative anonymity of their armour.

He was strutting across the tiny stage, singing in a not-entirely-awful voice, which was a pity because now she could make out the lyrics. She ignored his antics in favour of stirring the ice around with the tiny plastic lightsaber and staring blankly into space. Mehitabel had drunk the caf down to the gritty dregs, and it hadn’t worked.

“Hello,” said Loud Shirt, hovering on the edge of her booth. It was hypnotizingly awful. She could throw up on it and no one would notice until it dripped.

Mehitabel let him wait, draining her glass to the bottom. 

“Mind if I sit down?” he tried. Behind him, the quiet one and the angry one were watching intently. Tired just looked tired. Had to be the sergeant.

“Yes,” Mehitabel said, decision made. “I do.” She pushed her glass away and stood up.

“Oh.” He looked crushed for a genetically engineered wall of muscle. 

“You were going to try and pick me up, right?” 

“Yeah?”

“It worked. Come on.” Mehitabel had never been pretty. Too tall. Too solid. Too likely to beat you in an arm wrestle. Back in the world, no one as fine as a clone would’ve given her a first look, let alone a second. 

Loud Shirt exchanged frantic hand-sign with Tired. Mehitabel ignored it, walking towards the exit. If he caught up, great. If not, sleep. Loud Shirt jogged up and fell into stride beside her.

“I, uh. Where are we going?”

“Got a room in transients.” 

Mehitabel waved him in, and engaged the locks behind them. Might’ve just been the booze on an empty stomach, but his smile was endearing. More surprised than smug.

“You got a name?”

“Scorch,” he said. “Delta-62.”

“Mehitabel,” Mehitabel said. She sat on the bunk and started unlacing her boots. “Commando?”

“Nah,” he said, unbuckling his webbing belt. “Boxer briefs.”

She snickered.

“But yeah, Republic commando. Demolitions expert. I bring the boom.” He mimed an explosion with his hands, and his pants fell half-way down his thighs. He hadn’t lied. Boxer briefs it was.

“Certainly fucking hope you do,” Mehitabel said, pondering. The room was chilly, but socks were deeply unsexy. So were feet like dead fish. “Why’re you still wearing clothes?”

“Hadn’t thought I’d get this far,” he admitted, and shucked his shirt and undershirt in one motion. He looked considerably better without that shirt on. Then again, anyone would.

“You’re about to go much further,” she warned, getting under the covers, socks still on.

“Fuck me,” said Scorch, joining her too fast to get a decent look at his cock. Fuck, he was warm. If he was a shit lay then at least he’d be a good space heater.

“That was the idea,” she said, throwing a leg across his in an effort to soak up some of that heat and also to figure out how big his cock was. “How'd you like to be fucked, Scorch?”

“Frequently,” he said, and palmed one of her breasts. Even his hands were warm.

“Convenient,” Mehitabel said. “Have you had your shots?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. Anything else I should know?”

“You have a magnificent rack.” He hadn’t stopped touching them. Bacta had taken off most of the stretch marks when they’d been trying to refill the shrapnel gouges. Small mercies.

“So do you,” Mehitabel said by way of congratulations. “My right shoulder’s a bit fucked, be careful.”

“Roger roger,” said Scorch, and rolled so he could suck at her nipples. Mehitabel slotted one leg between his - yes, that was a nicely proportionate cock, thank you - and hitched closer, sliding a hand over the curve of his ass. 

“If you come before I do, I’m going to twist your balls right off,” she said sweetly. “And tell everyone clones are terrible in the sack.”

Scorch laughed. “Like that, is it?”

“Try me.” It’d been so long she probably had cobwebs in her cunt. With that, Mehitabel lost patience, pushing down to lever Scorch onto his back. She sat up, straddling his hips. The view was excellent, from his cock lying aslant on his stomach, to the solid muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the flattering glazed look on his handsome face.

“Tally one, twelve, closing,” she said.

“I am weapons free,” he said solemnly. 

“You certainly are,” agreed Mehitabel, rising to her knees to line them up. She sank and rose and sank again, carefully fucking herself open on his cock. Months, it’d been. There was a good angle around here somewhere - yes, there, once, twice, three times in a very friendly action. Her hand went between her legs, fingers stroking and circling. 

He had the sense not to interrupt. Scorch matched her rhythm, rocked his hips to meet her, hands light on her thighs as she worked herself on him, wound herself tighter and tighter, because it wasn’t enough until it was too much and she lost herself in it.

She re-arrived at consciousness to find Scorch with his hands twisted in the sheets, a look of concentrated anguish on his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked. She didn’t remember hearing anything snap, but towards the end she hadn’t really been listening.

“I’m trying very hard not to come,” he said, voice strained. “For the honour of my brothers.”

In spite of her sensitivity, Mehitabel rolled her hips. The look of shocked outrage on his face was worth it.

“Don’t do that,” Scorch gritted out.

“Do what?” said Mehitabel, doing her best to maintain an air of innocence while a man she’d met less than half an hour ago was balls deep in her.

“Fuck - that - !” He was trying to glare at her. Mehitabel giggled.

“Don’t laugh either, I can feel you - oh fuck -”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, and rolled them again.

“You’re a horrible bitch,” Scorch informed her, having caught on. “If you want to be like that -” He got his hands on her hips, his feet flat on the bed, and pushed. 

“- oh!” Mehitabel lurched forward, off balance, caught herself on his shoulders in time to meet his next stroke, and the next, until his hands held her down and his hips curled up and he came, gasping what might’ve been a name.

She wriggled her legs down, and rolled halfway off him. Couldn’t be bothered moving any more.

“Mmmm,” Scorch hummed from the back of his throat, a hand stroking her back. He was relaxing into the mattress like a tooka in the sun. Regrettably, his cock chose then to slip out. Mehitabel sighed. “Mmph?”

“You’re oozing out of my cunt onto this shitty mattress.” She felt the laugh run through him. 

“It’s probably the graveyard of millions.”

“No wonder it sags so much,’” she said, and went to clean off the splash damage.

Scorch lifted the covers for her when she crawled back in, shivering, and wrapped an arm around her to pull her back close to his chest, his chin in her hair. Mehitabel arranged herself to maximise skin contact, settling into a satisfied doze until Scorch poked her shoulder.

“Not that I didn’t have fun, but,” he said.

“Ejaculate and evacuate,” Mehitabel said. “Shoot your load and hit the road.”

“I would dearly like you to meet my brother,” said Scorch. “In fact, I have to go meet him now.”

“Good for you. I’m not moving.”

“Understandable.”

“Use the ‘fresher if you want, s’got ninety seconds of water on the timer.”

“You’re a queen among women,” Scorch said, levering himself out sideways to keep the warmth in, fondling her a little in the process. “Water. We only get ‘sonics.”

“Grmmph,” said Mehitabel. 

She cracked her eyes open when he sauntered back out, comfortable with his own nudity. Succumbing to temptation, Mehitabel snaked an arm out to slap his ass. He squawked and whirled, cock swinging. She grinned up at him, entirely unrepentant.

“For my spank bank.”

“How - how _dare you_ ,” Scorch said. “That was awful. I’m going to report you for war crimes.”

“Snib the lock,” Mehitabel advised. He rattled the door as proof when he left. 

She stretched and yawned, comfortably swaddled in her cocoon. It’d been a gratifying squawk, but even without it. Karabast, that ass, Mehitabel thought, and snickered. Maybe he’d’ve let her fuck him, face down on the bed, legs spread, and she could’ve been stretching him open, pushing into him hard enough to - to - sithspit. Words or gasps? Both? All four syllables of her name, moaned into the pillow? She didn’t even know if his nipples were sensitive. Feth, what an oversight.

Five days might not be so bad, depending on the company. There were possibilities. Mehitabel drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> At the beginning, Scorch is singing along to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gfe4S-uBwUs). There is currently no reference for his shirt, a circumstance for which we should all be grateful.


End file.
